


Friends Old and New

by Elendiliel



Series: Lightning Strikes [8]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Original planet, Planet Coruscant (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel
Summary: Reunited past all reasonable hope with their long-lost brother, Lightning Squadron find themselves on a joint mission with some of his new friends. It's not going to be straight-line flying, especially for their commander. The target just so happens to be on her native planet.
Series: Lightning Strikes [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Friends Old and New

**Author's Note:**

> While Echo's survival is canon, this is a "fix-it" in the sense that it partially aligns this series' continuity with the ending of "Unfinished Business", and hopefully with the Bad Batch's forthcoming spin-off series. If there's a better term, please let me know ASAP.
> 
> Minor possible canon-divergence alert: the chronology of Season 7 does my head in, especially combining it with Revenge of the Sith, so in the interests of simplicity and plot I've decided that there is time for Anakin to return to Coruscant, probably briefly, straight after Anaxes. Again, if anyone can disprove this I will happily accept correction.

Two humanoids circled each other, watching, waiting for an opening. One was male, one female. The female had the pointed ears, pale, freckled skin and strong, compact, wiry build characteristic of the Picti of Alba. The male was human, a clone soldier, tattooed on his right temple. Both were lightly clad, showing better than average musculature and two collections of scars not even bacta could erase. The newest were probably a laser burn on the female’s left arm and evidence of major surgery on the male’s chest, where a direct hit at point-blank range would have killed him permanently without his armour, Kaminoan technology, his own strength of will and pure dumb luck.

The male broke the stalemate first, seeking to exploit a gap in the female’s defences. A deliberate gap, which she closed just before he struck, counterattacking with snake-speed. He blocked, barely, and wasted no time in retaliating. They carried on the brutal dance for some minutes, neither gaining the upper hand for long, the only sounds in the room those of flesh hitting flesh, bare feet on the wooden floor and their breathing, quick, sharp exhales using the abdominal muscles rather than the diaphragm, adding power to each strike and block.

The slow, deliberate applause that broke the near-silence did not cause either fighter to break concentration. They wound down their sparring match by mutual, unspoken consent and turned to greet the intruder, a dark-complexioned human in Jedi robes.

“Koh-to-ya, young Abbasa. It’s good to see you and your team are keeping each other on your toes.”

“Koh-to-ya, Master Windu. It passes the time. How did everything go on Anaxes?”

“As well as anything goes in this war, and better than some. Speaking of which, once you lot are properly dressed again, there’s someone here to see you.” Something in Mace Windu’s tone sent Helli Abbasa and her strike team, Torrent, Fives and Spark, scrambling to obey, pulling robes or armour on over training gear. Helli ran a cheap comb quickly through her untameable curls, leaving a few of its teeth behind. Satisfied with their appearance, Master Windu called to somebody outside the sparring room, and the last person Helli had expected to see walked in the door.

“Echo!” All four of the other members of Lightning Squadron shouted pretty much at once, but Helli was the first to move, throwing her arms around her old, long-lost friend in a rib-cracking embrace, pulling back only slightly when she realised how _thin_ he was. Skinnier than her, which was saying something. His arms folded around her in return, one his natural flesh, the other a cybernetic limb. She couldn’t process that properly just yet. Not with her other brothers joining in the group hug, and more sheer joy than she had felt since rescuing Fives from Kamino coursing through her.

“I’ll leave you alone for a while, shall I?” Master Windu’s words barely registered. Likewise the four people who had followed Echo into the room, and now stood at a vaguely polite distance. Lightning Squadron had disengaged from each other, and were talking nineteen to the dozen, bringing one another up to speed on events since Echo’s apparent death. If Helli hadn’t been so happy to see her brother, hearing about his captivity and being used as a living computer by the Techno Union would have severely challenged her capacity to control her anger. It still might, once she had time to think it through. But for the moment, trading stories about their various missions, especially the off-the-books one to retrieve their still officially dead team member, for those of the assault on Skako Minor and the siege of Anaxes took priority.

“Are you lot quite done chatting?” The leader of the team of newcomers interrupted their reunion. He and his comrades were probably part of the Grand Army of the Republic, and quite possibly clones in the loose sense, but they had more individuality than any other non-Jedi soldiers. Echo introduced them. “Guys, this is Experimental Clone Unit 99. This is Sergeant Hunter, that’s Crosshair, the one with the datapad is Tech and the big man is Wrecker. Hunter, this is Lightning Squadron, my old unit. General Helli Abbasa, Sergeant Torrent, Fives and Spark.” Helli didn’t like the way Echo said _old_ unit, but any friend of Echo’s was a friend of hers, and she said so.

“Fives? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Even the Bad Batch heard the news, going by Hunter’s question.

“Only on paper. I still don’t know how I pulled through. One minute I was in a warehouse on Coruscant with a hole in my chest, the next on Kamino being rescued. Everything in between is a complete blank.” Fives’ survival was an open secret in their circle, never acknowledged, but clearly known at least to Generals Fisto, Ti, Skywalker and Kenobi. Probably Master Windu, as well, and possibly Captain Rex and/or Commander Cody. Forged paperwork, an altered tattoo and Lightning Squadron’s considerable independence from both the 501st Legion and the Jedi Council maintained plausible deniability. But if the Chancellor ever found out… In an effort to distract herself, Helli made a mental note to contact Master Ti or AZI-3 and get Echo’s chip removed, if he were willing to take the risk.

“I’ve heard a lot about you guys. I’m surprised you weren’t on Anaxes with us.”

“You and us both.” Spark had a habit of speaking his mind, one Helli probably encouraged more than she should. “The Republic’s key shipyards under threat, and where do we get sent? _Diplomatic protection._ ”

“Come on, fair’s fair!” Helli’s first instinct was still to defend her superiors where she reasonably could. “Senator Organa is an outspoken advocate for negotiation with the Separatists, a fierce opponent of any escalation of the war and openly, actively anti-corruption. He’s got more targets on his back than there are in a firing range. You must admit, it wasn’t an uneventful trip.”

“True. And we’ve definitely had worse assignments. Remember that time we were coming back from Lothal with Burtoni and her friends?”

“All too well.” Echo grimaced. “Getting shot at was the _best_ bit.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The senators’ reactions when I told them who’d been after them were pretty good.” The memory still made Helli grin. And having her old friend’s killer in binders, for however brief a time, had been far too satisfying.

“What d’you mean? Getting shot at is _always_ the best bit.” The clone-and-a-half Echo had introduced as Wrecker had joined in – and clearly, from Helli’s perspective, had warped priorities.

“Maybe for you. I was trained to _avoid_ any and all shooting where possible. Sadly, it too often isn’t.”

Torrent had noticed the metaphorical hackles being raised, and intervened as only he could. “I’ve heard a lot about your unit as well. It seems we’re in the same line of work, though our methods are complementary to each other. I’m sure there’s a lot we can learn from one another.”

“You’ll have a chance to find out soon.” Master Windu had come back in. “You’re going on a mission together.” The reaction to this announcement was mixed, ranging from almost-concealed excitement (Torrent, Echo and Helli) through polite interest (Tech) to outright dismay (Wrecker and Crosshair). Hunter elbowed Wrecker in the ribs before he could complain.

“Where, what, when?” Helli switched instantly into CO mode.

“Alba, as soon as possible. We’ve had reports of some kind of Separatist operation there, but your people’s… unique… relationship with the Republic makes it difficult to verify anything without a team on the ground.” Helli understood. Her natal people acknowledged the authority of the Republic and were represented in the Senate, but maintained an unusual level of independence. Part of that was an effective ban on any conventional military presence, even in orbit. Lightning Squadron and the Bad Batch were anything but conventional, however. “Whatever it is, it’s well hidden. Your people might be famously good fighters, but they feel this is a problem best left to the experts. In other words, you.”

“I presume this has to be deniable. The Senate won’t want to admit that the Separatists have got so far into our patch of the Inner Rim. We’ll be as discreet as we can. How much intel is available?” Master Windu held out a datapad, which Helli took and skim-read at her usual pace. “Not much, I see. But I think we can work with this.”

“You’ll have the opportunity to do some more recon once you’re there. We don’t think this is an active military base. More likely a listening station or research facility. The faster it’s taken down, the better, but there’s no need to be reckless. That’s partly why we’re sending ECU99 with you. Sergeant Hunter here, I understand, is better than any scanner for something like this. Crosshair’s the best shot in the army, Tech is a walking holocron and Wrecker has a gift for sabotage.”

“And I’m their minder.” Helli tried not to be hurt.

“In part. It’s not as bad as it sounds. This really does need to be done discreetly and carefully, and neither of those are ECU99’s strong points, but they _are_ yours and your unit’s. The last time something like this happened, some mad scientist was about to release the blue shadow virus back into the galaxy. If this is anything like that, there’s no team the Council would rather have dealing with it than Lightning Squadron.”

“I hope it isn’t, but thank you for the vote of confidence. I presume we can’t use military transport.”

“I’m afraid not. Talk to Skywalker, if you can get hold of him for five minutes together. He usually has something up his sleeve. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.” Windu and Helli bowed formally to each other and the Jedi Master left. Helli’s mind was almost too full of strategies, scenarios and schemes to notice the tensions in the room. Almost.

“Just our luck to get stuck with another lot of regs and a kid,” Wrecker commented, not quite quietly enough.

“Careful,” Echo warned. “Hel’s a lot tougher than she looks. The last person who called her a child ended up in pieces.”

“In my defence, that _was_ General Grievous, and he _was_ trying to kill me,” Helli countered. “There was no direct causal link. But thanks for the compliment. And if by “regs” you mean “regular clones”, I have yet to see any proof that such a thing exists. Now, are we going to stand around and snipe at each other, or are we going to do our jobs?”

That got them to shut up and pay attention, at least temporarily. They had a sketch of a strategy worked out quite quickly, playing to each person’s strengths. Hunter and Torrent would make the initial recon, Crosshair and Fives were the entry team, Tech, Echo and Spark were on data duty, and Wrecker and Helli intended to ensure that the Seps’ operation was emphatically shut down.

That was as much as they could do without actually being on the planet. While the rest of the joint team headed for the mess hall, Helli sought out Anakin Skywalker, eventually finding him in the Senate building of all places, and obtained the name of someone who could loan her a civilian transport shuttle that probably wouldn’t break down. Helli was sceptical, but if she’d judged Tech correctly, the ship would most likely end up in better shape than when she borrowed it.

Arrangements made, she reached the Temple refectory just in time to get a proper meal before it closed. Last chance before the mission. Supply bars might provide adequate nutrition, but they lacked taste. That was one of the perks of diplomatic work – better food.

She ate alone and hastily, as usual. Most of the masters, knights and older apprentices were out in the field, including all her friends. She didn’t know many of the younglings or younger padawans very well, and none of the older masters with whom she was acquainted were there. Not for the first time, she reflected that she felt more at home in the clones’ mess hall than there in the Temple where she’d lived for most of her life. How would she cope, once the war was over? How would her brothers cope?

They’d bridge that gap when they came to it. The priority now was being well rested before a critical mission. On that errand, Helli headed back to her room for what could, between the mission itself and any fallout, be the last good night’s sleep for a while.

The next morning found Tech, as Helli had expected, already tinkering with their borrowed transport. The rest of the expanded strike team were standing around, packed and ready, still not mixing. Torrent, Fives and Spark were in one group; Hunter, Crosshair and Wrecker made up the other. Echo was off to one side, but as Helli finished listening to Tech narrating the improvements he was making to the engines and asking him to hurry up and put it back together, he came over and asked, “Can I have a word in private, General?”

“Of course.” They moved away a little way, out of earshot but not sight of the others. Echo seemed to be struggling to verbalise whatever he wanted to say. Helli made an educated guess. “You’re not coming back to us, are you? Not full-time, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Hel. It’s great to be working with you and the others, but the Bad Batch is where I belong. I don’t know how else to put it.”

“I understand, and please don’t apologise. It’s an honour and a privilege to serve with you, and you’ll always be my brother, but if you feel your path leads elsewhere, don’t hesitate to follow it.”

He relaxed somewhat. “Thank you. It’s an honour to serve with you as well. I hope this isn’t going to be the last time.”

“Well, that rather depends on how this mission pans out. But even if it doesn’t go well, you’ll always be welcome to come along with us when you want – officially or otherwise.”

He matched her mischievous grin. “Still playing fast and loose with the regulations? Some things never change.”

“True. Now, shall we get underway? And have you told the others your decision?”

“Not yet. I will after the mission – if they haven’t already guessed.” Fair point. Two of them probably had – Torrent had a nose for such things, and Fives had known Echo since they were cadets together. But nobody said anything as they rejoined the others and Tech completed his first batch of modifications. He’d be flying, with Torrent as co-pilot. The rest of the Bad Batch, bar Echo, didn’t trust anyone else. Helli, Lightning Squadron’s primary pilot, wasn’t wholly displeased. She wasn’t the galaxy’s most enthusiastic flier, and used the journey time to check over her gear, as the others were doing. Although their pre-mission routines didn’t involve removing verdigris from the copper decoration on a lightsabre, which hers did.

“Can I see that?” Helli, a little reluctantly, handed her sabre to Crosshair. Dual-blade sabres were uncommon among the Jedi, but far from unknown; her design, however, was unique in more ways than usual. “It’s heavier than it looks.”

“The casing’s durasteel. Carbon fibre grip for insulation, inlaid with bands of silicone to maintain friction and stop it turning in my hands. Don’t ask me why I chose the copper rings at the ends. They just felt right.”

“You design these yourselves?” The construction of a lightsabre was a Jedi rite of passage, and as such shrouded in more mystery than Helli considered necessary.

“We make them ourselves, but I’m none too sure where the designs come from. Not our imaginations, I know that much. There’s a lot about the Force we still don’t fully understand, even after all these millennia. And I for one wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tech interrupted them. “We’re back in realspace and ready to make our descent, but air traffic control want an ID from anyone on board. Shall I acknowledge?”

“Yes, and transmit this.” Helli passed Torrent a chip with her chain code. Air traffic control must have been satisfied, because they continued towards Alba’s surface without any problems.

“What would have happened if they hadn’t accepted that?”, Hunter wanted to know.

“We’d have been escorted to the nearest spaceport to explain ourselves. But by long tradition, anyone born or raised on Alba has unchallenged landing rights, anywhere on the planet, no questions asked. Our code of honour is too strongly embedded for anyone to be up to any shady business without a fundamentally good reason. And it’s equally unthinkable to suspect a fellow Pict of breaking the code.”

“Even though you left when you were a child?” Spark had a good point.

“It’s not a perfect system. But it works, even in my case. The only likely reason any of us would be partly raised elsewhere is becoming a Jedi, and on those rare occasions there’s an understanding that the new youngling is taught _both_ codes, and allowed to keep as many of our values and traditions as the Jedi Code permits – combat style included.”

“It must be strange, coming home after all this time,” Hunter commented.

“It hasn’t been my home for well over a decade. Coruscant is home, or wherever I’m with my brothers.” Helli didn’t want to go into detail about her true feelings with such new friends. It would take too long to explain, anyway. But the knowledge that somewhere on the planet were people she hadn’t seen in years, if at all, who shared so much of their genetic material with her, was unsettling. The others wouldn’t understand. Bar mutations, all clones were genetically identical. They had millions of brothers, and more were created at regular intervals, “replacing” the hundreds if not thousands killed in battle every day. It was different for the natural-born. Even after vowing fidelity to the Code, forswearing all attachments, something deep within her wanted so desperately to protect her blood-family. Maybe it was evolutionary, the need to ensure that her genes carried on to the next generation. As a Jedi, she couldn’t have children, so her sisters and cousin were the only ones who could continue their branch of the Abbasa family, biologically if not in name. Or maybe it was the lingering, increasingly blurred memories of the first people who had loved her, the first people she had loved. Whichever it was, she knew intellectually that the best way to keep them safe was to stay focused.

Tech and Torrent executed a perfect landing – surprisingly, given the state of the shuttle’s landing gear – just where they’d planned it, at a comfortable distance from the probable location of the Separatist installation, which was in one of Alba’s few non-mountainous, non-agricultural areas, unnervingly similar to the hills Hel distantly remembered from her early childhood. She’d got out of the habit of last-minute briefings, but with the extra personnel she realised it was a good idea this time.

“Everyone clear on the plan? Excellent. Stick to it if possible, and tell the rest of us if you have to improvise. At least one group usually does. Stay with your partner or partners, watch each other’s backs, and for goodness’ sake don’t kill anybody if it can possibly be avoided. That includes droids. Got it?” She knew Lightning Squadron already did. These were their standard ground rules. The Bad Batch weren’t nearly so happy. Hel was glad she was paired with Wrecker herself. He was going to be trouble, if she was any judge.

First into the AO were Hunter and Torrent, the recon pair. With their weapons out of sight and rain-slick hoods drawn up against the downpour that was one thing Hel had _not_ missed about Alba, they looked like a couple of friends out for a walk. Close enough to fool most battle droids, anyway, and with a bit of luck they wouldn’t get reported to any organic or tactical droid commander.

Their luck held – so far. Torrent reported in an hour later. “L1, this is L2. We’ve found the target. It’s underground. BB1 reckons it’s a square complex, maybe a hundred metres on each side. Not drawing enough power to support much organic life for long, let alone any sort of research.” Well, that was a relief. Listening station, then? Part of Alba’s independence came from its proximity to some major shipping lanes. “No large life signs, either. Plenty of droids, though. Two exits that we can find, a main one and an emergency one. Sending you the coordinates now.” He did so, to Tech’s datapad.

“Good work, guys. OK, L3, BB2, you’re up. Join up with L2 and BB1 and clear a path through to the control centre. BB1, I presume you can find that?”

“With my eyes shut and my hands tied behind my back, L1.”

“A simple “yes” would have done. L4, L5, BB3, once the entry team signal you, it’ll be your turn. Play it by ear, but we need to know what they’re doing here and what their next move is likely to be if possible. BB4 and I will secure the emergency exit and put the reactor out of operation. Clear?” It was. Torrent left his comm on while he and Hunter strolled, apparently aimlessly, across to the base’s primary entrance. Hel heard a hatch being pulled open, a battle droid exclaiming, “Hey! What are you-” and the crackling noise of an EMP striking its motivator. Crosshair, she assumed, and the series of clangs as the inactive droid was hit hard enough to send it tumbling down the ladder it was presumably standing on somehow sounded like Fives. She had to trust them now, and do her own job. “Come on, BB4. Our turn.” He grinned like a child on Life Day at the prospect, and she suppressed a shudder.

Torrent had sent them the coordinates of the secondary exit from the base, but neither he nor Hunter had told them what the perisher looked like. Hel extended her senses through the ground around them as far as she could, but drew a blank. It was sheer chance (or the Force masquerading as chance, perhaps) that Wrecker noticed the faint outline of a door in the tree against which he was leaning while she searched. Hel mentally added one more offence to the charge sheet she carried in her head – ruining a perfectly good tree – as she applied Spark’s backup code cylinder to the locking mechanism and the door sprang open, revealing a shaft and ladder, which they began to descend, Wrecker first.

“Why didn’t you let me break it down?”, he wanted to know.

“One, we don’t want anyone to know we’re here yet – droids or locals. Two, this is still a living tree, just about, and it’s been through enough already. Three, it’s an emergency exit, and those usually open outwards. Four, keep your voice down and your eyes and ears open.” He complied, with little grace, as she used the very tip of her sabre to weld the door shut from the inside, careful to touch only the metal, not the bark covering it.

Just as she finished, the distinctive clank-clank of battle droids alerted her to a patrol passing beneath them. She switched off her sabre before the equally distinctive blue-green light and low humming sound gave away their position. Her heart sank as she saw that Wrecker wasn’t interested in stealth. He’d climbed down the last few rungs of the ladder towards the patrol. Before she could call out or reach him, the too-familiar cry of “Blast him!” rang out, followed by the rattle of laser fire.

No point hiding now. Hel followed her errant teammate as fast as she dared, reigniting both blades of her sabre the moment her feet hit solid ground. It didn’t immediately seem necessary. Wrecker was having a purrgil of a time. As fast as droids could pour into the corridor, he was rendering them harmless. Violently. At least he wasn’t actually killing any, and his armour was proof against their guns. She rerouted her own neural impulses from partner-defence to self-defence, batting away laser bolts that missed or ricocheted off Wrecker towards her as she tried to keep up with him, every step complicated by the scattered pieces of droid that threatened to trip her up.

“What part of “discreetly and carefully” did you not understand?”, Hel whispered during a momentary lull in proceedings. They had reached the other end of the corridor, and Wrecker, having temporarily run out of droids to bash, was setting charges to seal off the way to the emergency exit.

“I hate stealth missions,” he growled. “This,” indicating the detonator, the bombs and the mechanical mayhem they’d left behind, “is what I like.”

“Well, each to their own, though from where I’m standing there seems to be something seriously wrong with your priorities.” Hel used the Force to push a group of stunned droids out of the blast radius as she and Wrecker headed for their next destination, the explosion as the secondary entrance was rendered unreachable without heavy lifting gear following shortly afterwards.

Wrecker might be an impressive fighter, but Hel wasn’t taking any more chances than necessary. Those had only been standard battle droids. They might run up against super battle, commando or destroyer droids, and she didn’t know what Wrecker’s limits were. Consequently, she made sure to scope out every corridor both visually and with the Force before entering it, and when patrols came by, she ducked out of sight, forcing Wrecker – physically or telekinetically – to do the same. They reached the reactor room without further incident, much to his chagrin. That would soon change.

The reactor room bore a slight resemblance to an insect hive under attack. Droids don’t have as much body language as organics and their Force-presences are very different, but Hel could read the alarm and panic occasioned by their invasion. Mostly battle droids still, and a handful of commandos with electrostaffs. Stealth was now the opposite of what they wanted. They needed the droids out and charges set to shut down the reactor without destroying the base. Hel reminded Wrecker of this, and of her no-kill policy (which earned her a you’re-weird look), before unleashing him on the battle droids. The commandos were hers.

Stars, she hadn’t had a workout like this in a while. Five commando droids, at least as agile as most humans, and armed with one of the few types of weapon that could stand against a lightsabre. As she blocked, parried and feinted, driving her opponents out of the room, the adrenaline high let her glimpse why Wrecker loved this kind of thing so much. If it hadn’t been for the interlocking codes keeping her civilised, she might have joined him in causing as much chaos as possible.

But that wasn’t the full plan. Hel eventually succeeded in penning four of the commandos in a small room off the main hall, skimming a modified droid popper in just as she sealed the door. It was blastproof. The fifth had fallen victim to a wild swing from one of its allies, and was now thrown, still unconscious, out of another blast door along with some of Wrecker’s former enemies. Hel welded all the doors bar one shut as Wrecker turned his attention to the next phase of the plan. Blowing things up. (Hel would have preferred a controlled shutdown, but that couldn’t be done remotely.)

While he was still working on that, Hel’s commlink buzzed. “L1, this is L5. What is your status?”

“Reactor room secure. BB4 is wiring it as we speak. What is _your_ status?”

“Yes, we thought as much. We’re only a corridor away, and you were making plenty of noise. The control centre is also secure. We’d like you to join us when you can.”

“Will do, L5. Give us ten minutes.” Hel relayed this to Wrecker, who had just finished his task. She swept the room for droids they’d missed, then followed Wrecker out and sealed the door behind them. The control centre was, indeed, only a corridor away, a corridor littered with inactive droids. Crosshair and Wrecker immediately started comparing “kill” counts (a regular occurrence, going by Tech’s and Hunter’s expressions), while Hel assessed the data the rest of the team had found. The base was, as she had guessed, a listening station, intercepting Republic transmissions for light years around. By the looks of things, it was intended to be much more. Echo had found, and Tech had decrypted, plans for expansion that included an underground hangar and some nasty-looking weapons systems. They had it all duplicated, even – especially – the part they hadn’t yet deciphered, and were ready to go.

Nobody wanted to hang around. Echo, plugged into the mainframe, checked for stray droids one last time before Hunter led the way back up to the surface. Hel was the last out, as always. Normally she’d have been first in, as well, but she’d learned operational flexibility since that first mission, which now seemed so long ago. She sealed the hatch to the best of her ability and signalled Wrecker to set off the explosives in the reactor room. He’d done his job well. Even almost directly above the blast, it was barely perceptible, but Hunter confirmed that it had been strong enough to knock out the reactor without collateral damage. Someone was going to have to come back and deal with the mess, and she’d probably be in the party, but at that moment getting the data to Coruscant was the top priority.

Back in the shuttle, still miraculously in working order, Hel inspected her own feelings. Once the mission had been underway, it had been just another day on the job. The fact that she had been back on her native planet had been neither here nor there. Maybe it would have been different if Alba had been directly threatened, or maybe not. The whole galaxy was her family now, and especially the part of it in that transport, or waiting back home. Even if Echo did stay with the Bad Batch, he’d still be her brother, and the two groups would have more opportunities to work together. She could tell that something had changed. Tech and Torrent flew the ship like old partners, anticipating each other’s movements. The others were happily swapping war stories, and training stories. Helli smiled to herself. Definitely friends, not rivals. That was good. Old or new, she had a feeling they were going to need all the friends they could muster before long.


End file.
